Fa-la-la-la-la My Life
by Madj
Summary: What's worse than having to tend bar wearing a slutty Santa outfit? Why, when the last guy in the world you want to see is tending bar with you, of course. Because the universe is out to get you. CS AU


**Note:** The angst is killing me, so I had to write some fluff. Now I present 3,000 words of disgustingly fluffy holiday fic.

* * *

"What. The hell. Is. That." Emma Swan spoke flatly, and it wasn't really a question, since she knew exactly what the hell the garment was and why it was dangling from Mary Margaret's hand.

"Emma ..." her friend sent her a pleading look. "It's not really that bad."

Mary Margaret Blanchard was easily the nicest person she knew; she never had a bad word to say about anyone or anything. "Not really that bad" was one of the most negative things Emma had ever heard her say.

"No. Not happening," Emma said, eyes gliding over the red, bedazzled monstrosity (she guessed it was supposed to be a dress, though she actually owned T-shirts that showed less skin), trimmed in white faux fur around the hem (which would barely cover her ass) as well as the plunging neckline (ditto her breasts). "Last time I agreed to help with one of these things, I got to wear pants. And a shirt that actually covered my boobs."

Normally, Emma was more than happy to help with Mary Margaret's catering business, which her friend had inherited when her mother passed away. It was usually pretty easy work, as a college student she could always use the cash, and there wasn't a lot she wouldn't do for the sake of her friend. She'd met Mary Margaret and her then-boyfriend, David, on her first day at the university, and they had drawn her into their lives and made her a part of their family before she even realized that it had happened. She owed them both a lot.

But there were lines.

Red, glittery lines, with faux fur trim.

"Please, Emma, it's just this once," Mary Margaret said. "The client —"

"The client is a perv."

"There's no need to be rude! Dr. Whale —"

"Is _totally_ a perv," Ruby Lucas interrupted, slipping into the Storybrooke Country Club kitchen and throwing an arm around Mary Margaret's shoulders. The brunette was already wearing her sexy Santa outfit — complete with equally sparkly hat and black heels — and rocking it, in all honesty. Actually, the outfit was downright modest compared to some of Ruby's clothes; the woman was hot and saw no reason she shouldn't dress to show it off. Emma admired her guts while not at all wanting to do the same. She was all for women dressing however they liked, which was why _she_ normally wouldn't be caught dead wearing that outfit in public. "But he's hot, and he has money to blow on this fancy Christmas party complete with the most amazing caterer in town."

"She's definitely the best," Emma agreed. "Still doesn't make the outfit okay. You're not paying me enough to wear that thing."

"I know," Mary Margaret nodded. "But … I also made you an entire batch of chocolate cinnamon rolls. All for yourself."

 _Fa-la-la-la-la my life._

Emma sighed in defeat, reaching for the dress. This was the big downside of having a close friend. Mary Margaret knew just how to exploit her weaknesses, and to add insult to injury, she did it with a sweet smile.

* * *

Emma stood near the country club bar, resisting the urge to tug down the hem of her dress, knowing from previous experience that it would only serve to lower the neckline. She sighed for approximately the hundredth time before straightening her shoulders. She could do this, for Mary Margaret.

And for the cinnamon rolls.

It was a couple of hours of her life, and she'd be behind the bar most of the night anyway; how bad could it be?

"Well, well, Swan," a voice crooned behind her, proving once again that the universe was out to get her. She never truly doubted it, but she was used to getting a reminder now and then. "You look quite fetching in that getup; makes me feel a tad overdressed, though."

Rolling her eyes, she turned to face the newcomer, catching his gaze lingering on her legs. He was dressed in black pants and a red silky shirt with glittery snowflakes in a slightly darker shade of red than the fabric. It should have looked ridiculous, but this was Killian Jones, after all. He could wear anything and make it work for him, just one of the many reasons she despised him.

"Jones, what the hell are you doing here?"

"David's home with a nasty cough," Mary Margaret said. She had appeared in front of the bar, tweaking the bowls of pretzels and nuts, a sure sign of nervousness. "Killian was nice enough to agree to be our second bartender tonight. I guess I forgot to mention that."

Emma narrowed her eyes at her friend. Like hell she "forgot" to mention it.

Mary Margaret cleared her throat and leaned closer. "Wine," she said in a low tone. "I got you some wine, too. To go with the cinnamon rolls. _Be nice_."

Blowing out a breath, Emma moved behind the bar. She could be nice. Not like Mary-Margaret-nice, but she had her moments. It was just not always easy with Killian Jones. She and Killian both worked as bartenders at a place just off campus, and they had not exactly hit it off in the first place.

She'd thought he was an incurable flirt and womanizer, and he'd thought she was an ice princess who made it her business to push people away. Neither one of them was wrong, exactly. Still, after a few months at The Rabbit Hole, they had developed a certain rhythm of working together.

They made a good team, really, able to communicate with just a look, and it turned out that when he managed to turn down the flirting he could be very interesting to talk to. They still fought a lot, but it was more friendly bickering with more humor than heat behind it. Emma began to look forward to the quiet moments at the end of the night, closing the bar down together.

A month ago, she would have considered them friends. If forced, she might have admitted that she wasn't immune to his annoying good looks and gorgeous eyes.

But that was her mistake.

"She didn't make _me_ any cinnamon rolls," Killian complained.

"She probably figured all the phone numbers you'll score from bimbos would be reward enough," she said, not looking at him.

"You sound a bit jealous, love," he said. "You know those women have nothing on you."

"Oh, stow it, Casanova," she snapped, not willing to listen to his flirting for another moment. She knew he didn't mean a word of it. Not that she _wanted_ him to mean it. "Here come the first guests."

It was like any other night at work, but with much tackier clothing. Dr. Whale was pretty smarmy, but he and his guests were excellent tippers. Even splitting the cash with Killian, Ruby and the other two girls who were ferrying drinks around, Emma was going to bring home enough to almost make her feel guilty about accepting the cinnamon rolls and wine from Mary Margaret.

Almost.

When the party started to wind down, Emma made a quick circuit of the room to help Ruby collect some of the discarded glasses. When she returned to the bar, Killian was leaning on it, talking with one of the other servers. The brunette was tall and curvy, and the slutty Santa dress showed off her assets to full advantage. Killian could hardly help but notice, not that he was trying very hard.

Of course he wasn't. Which was 1000 percent his own business.

"Ruby could use some help," she snapped. "We're all still on the clock here."

The girl pulled back and raised her eyebrows, snapping a salute in Emma's direction. "Yes ma'am," she said sarcastically. Turning to Killian, she smiled. "Talk to you later, Killy?"

Emma wondered, if she threw up — literally puked her guts up on the bar — if that would get her out of situations like this in the future. Surely Mary Margaret would never ask her to work one of these things again.

"You know where I'll be, love," he said.

"Keep it in your pants for another hour, _Killy_ ," Emma snarked. She knew she was being a bitch, but she had zero fucks left to give. All she had to do was make in another hour, and she could be home on her couch watching Netflix and stuffing her face with cinnamon rolls and wine in no time.

"I don't know what you're so angry about, darling," he said, voice teasing, like they were actually friends … or something. "You got as least as many phone numbers as I did tonight. That dress does _wonders_ for your personality."

They made cracks like that all the time at work, all in fun, but tonight it stung. And when she got hit, Emma's first and only response was to hit back harder.

"Oh look," she said brightly as Regina Mills' mother, Cora, was making a beeline to the bar for her umpteenth visit of the night. The woman was making no secret that she'd be happy to get to know Killian better. It would have been hilarious if she wasn't so pissed off. "Here comes one of your favorite cougars! I mean, I know how you love older women."

Instantly, she regretted her words as his face closed off.

" _Her name was Milah," he said quietly. The things they revealed during their late nights closing up alone were always spoken in low tones, not secrets exactly, but_ confidences _. Things that weren't easy to speak of, that came out easier between wisecracks and sips of rum with the lights turned way down. She once told him about Neal, after a customer had reminded her of her ex. She didn't share all the details, but more than most of her friends knew. It somehow felt safe to tell Killian. And he told her of the older woman he'd fallen for, whose husband had decided that if he couldn't have her, no one could._

"Indeed," he said stiffly. "They _are_ the biggest tippers after all."

He didn't look at her again the rest of the evening.

* * *

"Do you ever just hear yourself saying something awful, but you just can't stop it? Like you're outside your own body watching yourself be the more horrible person ever?" she asked her friends later, as she helped collect empty glasses and trash throughout the room. Killian had disappeared as soon as the party ended, not even staying to help finish the cleanup, which was very unlike him.

Not that she blamed him.

"Have you met me?" Ruby asked.

"Everyone does that sometimes," Mary Margaret agreed. "What awful thing did you say?"

"I said something bitchy to Jones. I mean, worse than that. I don't want to get into it, but … I was just really out of line."

"You guys bicker all the time," Mary Margaret said, tying off the last trash bag.

"This was different."

"Well," Ruby said, with a wicked grin. "I guess you'll just have to find some way to make it up to him." Pausing, she appeared to consider that Emma might not understand what she meant before adding, "You know, with sex."

"Yeah, I got that."

"Apparently not," Mary Margaret said. "You could sure stand to get some, though."

Ruby burst out laughing, and Emma could hardly stop herself from joining in, since she'd never heard her sweetheart of a friend say such a thing before.

"Seriously," Mary Margaret said, sounding a little cranky for once. "The two of you have enough unresolved sexual tension to power the town. I mean, the last time we went to The Rabbit Hole for drinks, David and I could hardly make it home before we —"

"Ugh, gonna stop you right there," Emma interrupted. "That's like hearing about my parents having sex. If I, you know, had parents."

"Don't be so hasty, Em," Ruby said. "Some of us would probably enjoy a play-by-play. Tell us all about how Prince Charming ravished you, Mary Margaret."

Mary Margaret laughed. "You'll just have to live without that knowledge; I don't kiss and tell."

"Well," Ruby said, bringing the subject back on track, unfortunately. "Emma's not doing much of either, so someone needs to pick up the slack."

"Look guys," she said. "It's just … he isn't interested, that's all."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Did something happen? That means something happened, right?" Ruby cried. "Why are we only just hearing about this now?"

"And Emma, hon, you're mistaken," Mary Margaret agreed. "Killian is crazy about you. He has been for a while. When's the last time he went out with another girl?"

"He flirts all the time."

"Flirting, yeah, but you're the one he makes puppy dog eyes at all the time," Ruby said. "He'd never even look at another woman if you'd give him the time of day."

Emma shook her head. "Just, trust me. I know for a fact he's not interested. Can we drop this, please?"

She registered the shocked looks on her friends' faces in the split second before she heard someone clearing their throat behind her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, praying that it was the pervy Dr. Whale or David miraculously showing up to help or basically anyone else in the world except the person that she knew it was.

Because the universe was out to get her.

Maybe he hadn't heard anything. Or didn't know what they were talking about.

"Great timing, Jones," Ruby spoke up, confirming her worst fear. "Cleanup's all done now."

"I apologize, ladies," he said. "You may keep my cut of the tips if you'd like."

"Of course not," Mary Margaret told him. "You did great tonight, and the cleanup wasn't a big deal."

"Ah, thank you. I wonder … might I speak with Swan for a moment?"

At that, Emma's eyes snapped open, and she sent her friends a pleading look, which quickly turned to a glare when she realized the traitors were making a run for it — Ruby sending her a saucy wink and a not-at-all-subtle obscene gesture on the way.

She was going to kill them.

Mary Margaret had better be leaving her bribes in her car. If she had to make do without her cinnamon rolls and wine after this shitshow of a night, she would not be held responsible for her actions.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face Killian as they abandoned her. Clearing her throat, she tried to force herself to speak. She knew she owed him an apology; he knew it, too, so why the hell was it so hard to do?

"Jones," she said, figuring it was better to just rush through it. "I'm sorry. I was a bitch, and I shouldn't have brought up that … stuff. It won't happen again."

He tilted his head and smiled. "Apology accepted, love, but that's not why I wanted to talk to you."

Oh shit. He _had_ heard.

"I couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation —"

"Eavesdropping is rude," she snapped.

"So is telling lies about a man," he said.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" She jammed her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

He just grinned and stepped closer, way into her personal space. "I distinctly heard you telling your friends that I am not interested in you. That's a damn lie, and I insist you take it back."

"I — what?" She resisted the urge to step back, heart rate jumping at the way his eyes kept dropping to her lips.

"You heard me, love."

He leaned in as if to kiss her, sparking her temper, and she shoved him back. "What the hell are you playing at, Killian? We both know that's not true."

"How, exactly, do we both know that?" He stepped into her space again, and this time she did back up.

"You left!" she cried, shoving at him again. Her voice dropped, and she crossed her arms in front of her. "I kissed you, and you just left."

"Swan. _Emma_ , you were drunk," he said.

"I wasn't that drunk," she argued, stepping backward again as he continued to crowd her.

She _hadn't_ been that drunk. Despite the many toasts they'd made to David and Mary Margaret at their engagement party a month before, she had been only pleasantly buzzed by the end of the night. The only reason she'd accepted Killian's offer to walk her home was because she was finally ready to admit that she enjoyed his company and wanted more of it. To that end, when he tried to leave her at her door, she'd completely lost her damn mind, pulled him to her by his jacket collar and kissed him.

He had kissed her back, and it was hot and wet and wonderful while it lasted. Unfortunately, it was only a few moments before he'd pulled back, promised to see her at work the next day and left her standing at her open door with a kiss on the forehead.

It was a brushoff, pure and simple. It was obvious that the man who'd nail anything that moved wanted nothing to do with Emma Swan. It was insulting and embarrassing, and she wanted to forget that it ever happened.

"Still," he said, slowly inching her backward until her back hit the wall and she had nowhere to go. "I wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing. I didn't want you to regret any of it."

"You never said anything," she whispered, suddenly breathless.

"You wouldn't call me back, Emma. When I tried to bring it up, you acted like nothing happened, so I assumed that, as I'd feared, you regretted it. I tried to go back to normal, even though 'normal' is the last thing I felt."

She closed her eyes. "I thought you rejected me, and that's why I didn't want to talk about it."

"I reject you?" he huffed out a laugh, and he was so close she felt his breath on her face. "Unthinkable, Swan. After your abysmal display of jealousy tonight, I finally started to hope that perhaps you'd reconsidered."

She decided, considering the circumstances, to overlook the insult. Especially when she had it coming.

"What now?" she asked.

"Now, we try this again," he said, casting his eyes up to the mistletoe he'd maneuvered her under.

She looked up, too. "Cheesy, Jones. Did you see that in a Hallmark movie?"

"I appreciate a good romance, Swan," he said. "However, I wouldn't object if you simply want to jump me like you did the last ti—"

So she did.

* * *

With Killian's enthusiastic help, the slutty Santa dress was a lot more fun to take off than to wear. And, Emma decided later, having to share her wine and cinnamon rolls with him while watching cheesy Christmas movies on Netflix was no hardship at all.


End file.
